


Death Mate

by justheretoreadhannibalfics



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Hannibal is smitten, M/M, Will is a god of death, serial killery stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justheretoreadhannibalfics/pseuds/justheretoreadhannibalfics
Summary: I posted about this idea on my tumblr, and then it ate away at me until I started writing it.Hannibal meets death, and is infatuated. He must only find a way to see them again. No matter the cost.





	1. Revival

The god of death swept his gaze over Hannibal Lecter. His mouth was pressed into a gentle frown and his brow was lowered over his eyes.

A nearby hellhound whimpered softly, evoking one of the god’s hands to reach out and stroke it between the ears. The beast was subdued and the attentions of the god was only temporarily averted from the soul before him.

Hannibal felt a delightful chill when the eyes found him again. A crown of antlers was nestled comfortably in the dark curls that graces the head of the god appraising him, and Hannibal wondered what was to become of him.

“It is not yet your time,” the god said offhandedly, continuing to rub the hound under his palm, “You will return to the world of the living. You will most likely recall our meeting as a fever dream, brought on by your near-death experience. May you live a long life that I may not have to see you again soon.”

The god waved his hand, ushering Hannibal out of his sight. 

The scent of freshwater, forest underbrush, and dogs was accented with a nearly imperceptible scent of pomegranates. The last seemed a bit stereotypical and Hannibal nearly grinned at the thought.

Hannibal was frozen, staring rather rudely, his mouth slightly agape, at the god of death. He only regained his senses when a hellhound snarled at him.

Hannibal jumped, turning his gaze to the hound that was much nearer than he would have liked. The canine bared its teeth menacingly and Hannibal resigned to leave as he was bid.

As the hounds escorted him to the exit, Hannibal cast one more glance over his shoulder at the glowering god. 

He couldn’t help but think he would like to meet him again.

 

Hannibal straightened his tie as he walked, hoping the slight breeze would not make him appear less presentable for the walk. 

As he approached the street he intended to cross, he found himself a witness to a misfortune. There was the sound of tires screeching and the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber closely followed by the smell of blood.

As he watched, a man crossed the street beside the motionless figure, three dogs obediently at his heels.

Hannibal’s gaze swept upward, taking in the image of the man. He was wearing a rumpled, grey dress shirt and a baseball cap was tugged down over his eyes. The dark curls that protruded from the cap were what caught Hannibal’s immediate notice. A memory flitted across his mind as the man’s head tilted up and he caught a glimpse of his face.

The same dark eyes looked back at him as from the memory of his fever dream. The same frown graced the same lips as the ones he could see in his mind. 

Then he was gone. 

The man bustled through the crowd, past Hannibal, and was gone. 

A familiar scent reached his senses over the throng of people, only further instilling the recollection of his hallucination.

Hannibal moved toward the accident, pushing through to the man lying on the asphalt.

“Please,” he said, “I’m a doctor. I want to help.”

Feeling for a pulse, he was unsurprised when there was none. The god of death had claimed this soul for himself. There would be no rescue for this man. 

Hannibal went through his do-diligence, doing everything in his power to save the man’s life, but he knew nonetheless that it was a hopeless endeavor. 

 

Hannibal had thought his fever dream to be poetic nonsense, the elegance of the scene being generated from his own mind. His interest in cultures of the past giving way to the type of vision he had seen. 

After seeing the same man at the accident, Hannibal could feel his logical resolve wavering. 

He didn’t typically believe in such things as gods, he certainly didn’t believe in God, but he thought a coincidence such as this deserved to be looked into. The only detail that needed to be sorted out was how.

Having left the hospital setting for the much more agreeable psychiatric field, he knew he was unlikely to be witness to another death while at work. He was equally as unlikely to witness another accidental death, as yesterday’s occurrence had been uncommon and he didn’t travel on foot like that frequently.

He took another draw from his wineglass as he decided his course of action. 

He would have to kill someone.


	2. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal finds his perfect prey

Hannibal refrained from grimacing as he watched the man at the counter “help” the customer in from of him. The thought of having to deal with this kind of customer service made him almost reconsider whether or not he actually needed to be there that day.

He resigned to his fate, knowing he had put off getting his watch repaired for too long already. It was a simple fix and he wouldn’t need to be there for very long, he hoped. 

The woman turned around, almost bumping into Hannibal in her haste to leave. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration and she let out a huff of air with her quick apology.

Hannibal nodded politely to her as she hurried around him and out the door. He then turned his attention back to the disrespectful young man who was currently tending the counter, though Hannibal thought “tending” might not be the most appropriate word for what he was doing. 

Stepping up to the counter with a polite greeting, Hannibal held back a frown as the man lifted himself up onto his elbows, perching his chin in his hand as he leaned over the counter. 

He gave a lazy response to Hannibal’s greeting, not lifting to meet his eyes as he asked what service Hannibal needed done.

Hannibal produced the box containing his watch and placed it on the counter.

“I need a simple repair done, I expect it shouldn’t take too long, but I would like to consult with whomever will be making the repair to discuss the expected time and pay,” Hannibal said, finding it best to get all of that out of the way as quickly as possible when dealing with this man.

A tired sigh left the man’s lips as he heaved himself up off the counter. 

“I’ll see if Joe can meet with you,” he said.

“Thank you, and what was your name again?” Hannibal responded.

“Jacob Hughes,” the man replied casually as he walked to a back room.

Hannibal was glad that the man at least had the courtesy to give him a full name. He would have been much harder pressed to track him down had he only given him his first. 

Hannibal watched as “Joe” was ushered out toward him. His grey, scruffy beard framed his broad smile as he extended a hand to Hannibal.

“Joe Bentley,” he introduced himself, “I hear you have a repair you would like to discuss with me?”

Hannibal smiled, taking the offered hand. This man was much more agreeable than his young coworker.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said, “I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience to you, but I have been putting this off for far longer than I should have, and now I have only a short while before I must be at work.”

Joe waved it off, beckoning Hannibal around the counter and into his office, plucking the box from the counter as he went.

“No need to worry,” he said, “I welcome the distraction from all my paperwork. Please, come sit down and we can talk about your watch.”

Hannibal took his seat across the desk from Joe.

Joe opened the box and surveyed the damage.

“A cracked crystal. This really will be a quick fix, as long as the face hasn’t been damaged. Mind me asking how it happened?”

Hannibal shook his head.

“I don’t mind at all. The truth is, I had a rather violent altercation with a patient a short while back. The crystal was a bit bashed as it were, and this was the result.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully.

“Well,” he said, cracking a smile, “At least it wasn’t your neck.”

Hannibal smiled. 

“Indeed.”

 

After they settled on an estimated price, Hannibal promised to return that Thursday. He knew he still had a bit of time, so he felt no need to leave in a hurry. 

Perhaps he could gather some intel instead.

“So,” he began, shifting in his seat to feign discomfort at his intrusion, “I don’t mean to be rude, but your coworker is rather distasteful.”

Joe gave him an understanding glance.

“I’m all too aware of the fact,” he admitted, “I am working on finding him a replacement, but for now he’s all I have.”

Hannibal was banking on the hope that Joe would like to talk, and he was not disappointed.

“I suppose he probably has a lot going on at home or some such thing,” he continued, “He lives over at the west side, he doesn’t have his own car, and he probably has a rough family life, but I really do need someone who can be better with people.”

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully. 

The west side was a vague, but ultimately helpful bit of information that Hannibal intended to take full advantage of.

He was now sitting across the street from where this Jacob Hughes lived. He had been watching him for a few weeks, to be sure his punishment was actually deserved. 

After witnessing nearly every kind of affront to humanity from this man, Hannibal rested firm in the knowledge that the world would be better off without him. 

The front door of the apartment opened, spilling light out onto the front steps. The silhouette of a man was framed in the doorway, and as the door shut and the man descended the stairs, Hannibal recognized him as Hughes.

The man slid into the front seat of his car and the headlights blinked on. 

Hannibal waited until the car pulled out of the driveway and was halfway down the street before he started his own car. He followed at a good distance, careful not to make it obvious that he was following the borrowed car. 

He followed Hughes down a backstreet, one that had buildings on each side, but they were mostly empty or abandoned. This was his best bet at an easy job, and he was calculating exactly how much farther they would get before the car puttered to a stop.

During this train of thought, as if on cue, the car in front of him slowed, the lights flickering, and the engine making a rather distressed sound. The car pulled off to the curb just as it gave out completely, and Hannibal slowed as he passed.

The driver got out and Hannibal could imagine the string of curses he was emitting at that time.

Hannibal pulled over a few meters in front of Hughes’ vehicle and exited to meet him. 

“Hey!” came the frantic beckoning, “Can you help me over here?”

Hannibal waved to him through the dark, walking up quickly.

“My engine just stopped working, I can’t be late to my friend’s place. Can you give me a ride?”

Hannibal smiled, knowing full well that this was not his car and that he should be more concerned with repairing it than being late to wherever he was going.

“I’m afraid my seats are full of file boxes at the moment,” he lied smoothly, “But if you come with me to my car, I might have a jack in the trunk. We can check out what might be wrong, and I can call you a tow truck with my cell phone that’s in the car.”

Hughes sneered, clearly unhappy with the idea of doing actual labor. He began walking toward Hannibal’s car without verbally answering, and Hannibal was perfectly fine with walking behind him.

As they walked, Hannibal pulled two things from his pockets. One was the keys to his car, preparing to open the trunk, and the other was a syringe with a perfectly measured amount of tranquilizer. 

Hughes stopped at Hannibal’s trunk and waited as he walked up. Hannibal extended the hand with his keys, unlocking and opening the trunk, while simultaneously putting the other on his companion’s shoulder.

When the hatch lifted, a sound of confusion escaped Hughes at the sight of the plastic sheets that layered the inside of the trunk and at the prick he felt in his neck, right where Hannibal’s hand was resting.

His hand flew up to his neck as the needle was retracted and his vision began to blur.

“You, mister Hughes, have been very rude,” Hannibal said as the man before him collapsed.

Hannibal moved forward, catching him just before his head hit the asphalt. Now was not quite his time to die, and Hannibal would be sure to let him know when it was.


	3. Roses and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A valiant attempt to get a date

The scent of roses was mingling with the smell of blood in the air, creating a bouquet of aromas in the air that made Hannibal smile. He thought of a few other scents that would pair nicely with the tang of iron. 

The man before him was unconscious from blood loss, as Hannibal had made sure the sedatives had washed out of his system before the operating had begun. He knew from experience that meat with sedatives in the blood would have a different and less pleasant taste. 

He had been periodically watering the rose bushes with this man’s blood for a week, and now he was emptying a cavity in his abdomen where he would plant one in just a moment. He didn’t want him to die until he gave him leave to. 

Hannibal retrieved his gloved hands from the bloody cavity, gently cradling the man’s kidney. He slid the organ onto the tray next to him before inserting his hands with exactness back into the ever emptying hole in the man.

When he had all the desired organs, and the cavity was sufficiently large enough, Hannibal poured some potting soil into the hole and stirred it with his hands. He then made room enough that he could place the bush into it. 

He packed the dirt up around the base of the plant, taking in a breath of the fragrant blossoms. 

Perhaps some lemon. That might pair with these scents rather well. 

Will furrowed his brow at the sight before him. 

Was this guy serious?

A mutilated corpse with a shrub growing from his abdomen, designs painted across his skin, probably in his own blood. His hand held a single rose, plucked only moments before from the very bush that now rested under his ribs. 

Near the head of the body stood a man. 

Will studied him and, begrudgingly, recognized him.

“Hannibal Lecter,” Will said. Tone was flat, unimpressed, and a bit flustered.

The golden eyes studying him lit up at the sound of his name.

“I had wondered if you would remember me,” he admitted, tugging at the sleeves of his plastic suit.

“What on earth is this?” Will asked, gesturing to the scene in front of him.

Hannibal smiled, straightening his shoulders in pride.

“A gift.”

Will raised his eyebrows, still frowning in displeasure.

“For you,” Hannibal clarified.

Will sighed, rubbing his face with both his hands. He was too tired for this. He just wanted to be done for the day. He just wanted to go home, feed the hellhounds, and maybe go fishing. That would be nice.

But then THIS GUY just has to go and be an absolute freakshow.

“Why,” he said flatly. It wasn’t a question, more an entreaty. 

Hannibal Lecter’s smile faltered just a touch. 

“I wanted,” He began, seeming to only now question his own actions, “I wanted to see you again.”

Will could do little but give him an incredulous look, his eyebrows lifting slightly in exasperation. 

“You… wanted to, to see me?” he asked, clearing his throat. 

Hannibal’s eyes continued to sweep over Will entirely, seeming to soak in every bit of him. 

“Yes,” He replied, “And may I add you look wonderful.”

Will closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here.

“I was just about to prepare dinner,” Hannibal said, an offer, “Would you join me? I’ve heard I’m quite good.”

Will’s eyes flicked to the tray of organs, presumably from their mutual acquaintance here. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Will said, clearly not sorry in the slightest, “But I’m rather busy at the moment.”

He gestured to the body before them. See all the work I have to do?

Hannibal nodded, a sad smile on his face.

“I would like for you to join me at some point,” He said curiously, “Is there any chance you might be inclined to do so at a future date?”

Will gave him a dead stare that clearly showed how tired he was.

“I don’t wish to be rude, as I know you despise the rude,” he said, inclining his head toward the body, “But you cannot possibly convince me to join you for a meal.”

Hannibal tilted his head in wonder. A look in his eye told will that his statement had been taken as a challenge.

With a heavy sigh, Will stepped forward and collected the soul. He tried to keep from meeting Hannibal’s gaze as he left. The aforementioned seemed resigned to being ignored, settling for watching Will as he walked away.

**Some people.**


	4. Dinner invitation

That hadn’t gone quite as well as Hannibal had hoped, but it had gone almost exactly as he had expected. The god of death seemed less than impressed by his display, but he hoped to entice him into accepting a dinner invitation in the future.

He drove back to his own home with the cooler of organs in his trunk. 

Human would probably taste closest to pork, he thought, so he would find a suitable recipe and make do.

The street lights passed outside the car as Hannibal wondered what could catch the eye of the death god. His first attempt had managed to summon him at least, but he wanted to see those eyes light up with wonder. He wanted a smiled to grace those perfect lips. 

He would have to do much better, he thought, if he were to impress such a being.

The man who walked into his office was shorter than himself by a fair amount and he stood as if he thought he was the most important person in the room. Hannibal didn’t appreciate that, though he had yet to see if it was true.

“I’m beginning to think you’re investigating me,” Hannibal said, calmly surveying his situation.

Crawford nearly laughed, settling for a nervous smile.

“Oh, no. Alana Bloom told me you might be able to help?” He explained.

Hannibal let his mind rest. This man was simply looking for help from someone he had no idea was a killer. It almost made Hannibal smile.

“I would be happy to,” he offered, “May I ask with what?”

Crawford did laugh now, nodding and continuing to wander around the office. Hannibal didn’t like it much when people did this, as they were usually (possibly subconsciously) trying to make him nervous by not letting him sit.

“I need a good profiler, and after reading some of your work, I believe you’re my best bet,” Crawford said. 

Hannibal did smile now, politely.

“I’m flattered. Am I to assume I would be working as a consultant, with everything that entails?”

Crawford flinched almost imperceptibly, but continued smiling.

“I guess I should have anticipated you being that forward. Yeah. I’ll get you the paperwork as soon as I can.”

Hannibal was slightly annoyed that Crawford hadn’t thought to, intentionally or not, bring the required paperwork with him to his office for this conversation. 

“Then I would like to invite you to dinner,” Hannibal said, “You can give me any necessary information I may need to help you at the same time as the paperwork. Is it very urgent, or will tomorrow work for you?”

Crawford was clearly uncomfortable at the invitation, but he nodded.

“Tomorrow should be fine,” he said, making his way toward the door, “I’ll see about the paperwork, and I should be able to get it by then. When do you want me?”

Hannibal was pleased with this. 


	5. Growing Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is frustrated, but not deterred.

Hannibal was growing more fond of his designs that incorporated flowers.

The flowers themselves had very little to do with his growing enjoyment of their use, but rather the use of their subtler scents. If he used just the right amount of blossoms, the smells of the scene were entirely pleasant, and he was very fond of it.

These blossoms, in particular, he could use copious amounts of for his design, as their scent was subtle and subdued. 

He carefully placed the amaryllis blooms into the hair of his newest victim as tears dripped silently from her eyes. He placed a calming hand on her forehead and hummed to her a bit. She wouldn’t have to worry for much longer, but Hannibal had to admit, keeping them alive for the entire preparation was a bit tedious.

He was entirely capable of keeping them alive for however long he wished. He knew they didn’t appreciate it much, though he cared little about their preferences.

The woman’s eyes opened, dark brown and inelegant in their color. She looked up at him and he moved around to his tray of tools.

“Now,” he said, not bothering to look at her, as she knew he was speaking to her, “You have been very rude, madam. I can forgive nearly any transgression, but I choose rudeness as the one I will not. Not in such terrible proportions as you showed me.”

The woman could make no sound or movement in response, but the continuing stream of tears let Hannibal know she had heard him just fine.

Taking up a scalpel, Hannibal thought of the eyes that haunted him. The blues that seemed to view the very soul of everyone they turned to. Those eyes were so much more beautiful than those of this woman. He thought it only appropriate for him to relieve her of them.

 

Jack glared at the scene as if his anger would be the final factor in making these crimes to be committed. He waited for Hannibal to look it over and give an analyses with the same scowl carved into his features.

“This killer has at least some surgical training,” Hannibal ‘observed’, “He removed the eyes, but let her continue to bleed from the sockets. This was a choice. To replace them with the flowers betrays some resentment toward the eyes themselves, though they were probably not the motivation for the murder in its whole.”

Jack nodded with a grimace.

Katz and Zeller were going over the body and they affirmed Hannibal’s observations.

“He definitely knew what he was doing,” Beverly said, “I just hope he left something behind for me to find this time.”

Zeller piped in at that point.

“Or she,” he pointed out, “They kill men too, so it could be either.”

Beverly gave him an amused glance.

“But women are less likely to kill anyone, statistically, so I’m sticking with _ him _ for now.”

Brian shrugged in surrender.

“Took the lungs from this one,” he continued, gesturing to the body, “And the evidence points, once again, to her being alive for most of the procedure. I can’t imagine that was very pleasant.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hannibal knew he was getting a headache.

“Alright, get all this back to the lab. I’ll see you there. Dr. Lecter, finish your write up and get it to me when you can.”

Hannibal nodded curtly and Jack walked out to his car. 

Hannibal took his time getting to his own car. He didn’t have anywhere to be anytime soon.

Thinking back, he frowned. The god of death had once again declined his invitation to dinner. Hannibal wanted to have an actual conversation with him, but he didn’t seem to want to have a conversation with Hannibal. 

There was an opportunity to learn so much, if he could only find the way to seize it.


	6. Out of Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subtle manipulation and careful avoidance

Hannibal was unusually bored this afternoon. 

Jack Crawford had dragged him to a scene of his own making, and it was only a reminder of his most recent failure to catch the fancy of the dashing death god.

His many attempts up to this point had all seen a similar result to the first one, but he was only slightly discouraged. He refused to give up on his ambition.

Unenthusiastically, Hannibal made his usual show of analyzing the scene before giving Jack a profile of the killer. He gave them just enough truth to keep them from catching him in a lie, but enough lies to lead them as far from himself as he could. 

“Are you alright?” Jack asked, having pulled Hannibal aside, “You don’t emote too much, but I can tell when you’re not exactly in the game.”

Hannibal thought that was an extremely amusing notion, but he kept his expression neutral. 

“I have been unusually busy recently,” he offered, then gestured to the crime scene, “and these don’t exactly provide the mind with ample rest in the off time.”

Jack’s eyes lit up with understanding, but he hardened them quickly with his usual resolve and stubbornness. 

“I’m sorry for that, truly, but your help saves lives,” he said earnestly.

Ah, such subtle manipulation. If Hannibal were someone more empathetic, that might have made him feel obligated to continue, despite the threat it supposedly posed to his personal health. As it was, he decided it gave him good enough opportunity to establish faith in him.

“I do understand,” Hannibal said, feigning resignation, “And I would never suggest that I stop for my own sake. I was merely explaining my situation. Of course I will be as helpful to you as I know how.”

Jack appeared almost absurdly pleased by this response, seemingly convinced that his own cunning had ensnared a brilliant mind to do his bidding. Hannibal thought that to be rather rude of him, but there was little he could do to rectify this, as Jack was his best bet in the case his character were to come into question.

He must be more patient than that.

 

Will was getting tired. 

Not that this was anything out of the ordinary, but he was even more so with this crazy admirer trying to drag his attention back to himself whenever possible.

What was wrong with that guy?

Will had encountered others who could see him in the past, but this guy took the cake for craziest. He had looked death in the eye and thought “Well, that looks fun”. 

Who does that?

Will rubbed his face in an attempt to keep his eyes from shutting prematurely. It had been a long day, and looked to be making itself longer by the minute. 

Well, this job seemed fairly routine, at least. 

Blending into the crowd, but never taking his gaze from the man he was following, Will bustled down the sidewalk, past buildings and alleys he ignored with the same apathy as if they were only set pieces for the scene.

Wendigo tugged on her leash a bit more firmly than was normal, and it caught Will’s attention. 

He turned to his hellhound and saw her scenting the air. 

Will cursed under his breath when he saw him.

That guy again.

Hannibal.

Why did he always manage to show up when Will was busy? It was bad enough that he was making Will busier by the day, but he also just seemed to always be there. Worse still, Wendigo had taken a liking to him at one point, and she was now distracted by his presence.

Will dragged the hound along, pointedly ignoring the gaze of his creepy admirer as he continued his hunt.

The man he was following ducked into an alley and Will stood at the entrance to watch and wait. 

There was a scuffle and a few shouts as the man was attacked. Will rubbed Wendigo between the ears as she whined softly, eager to finish their job. 

“Don’t worry, girl,” he said to comfort her, “We’ll go in and get this over with in a second. Then we can go home and I’ll make you some dinner hmm? That sound good?”

Wendigo wagged her tail and the killers fled the alley.

Will straightened up and led his hound to the dying man.

The man looked up at Will with a pleading gaze, but was unable to speak due to his condition. Will crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his forehead.

“Do you want the pain to go away?” he asked calmly.

The man nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

Will collected the soul and headed home. Another job done, many dogs to feed.


	7. Having No Other Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Success at last, though it was a bit coerced. Insignificant detail.

Will stared at the scene before him.

‘I really don’t get enough vacation time for this,’ he thought.

The nearly cavernous room was much too large for the small display being designed by this insane man, but that didn’t seem to affect him at all.

Hannibal had another body laid out, apparently having also injected some sort of dye, as the veins were much more visible than they had any natural right to be. The body itself was mostly intact, not counting the incision to the abdomen, where Will knew Hannibal had taken an organ or two from. 

The barbed wire was a bit surprising though, as the “gifts” had all previously been as enticing as the crazy could make them. The wire twined around the limbs in delicate and graceful spirals, and creating an intricate sort of bow near the collarbone.

Hannibal was watching Will as he took in the scene with tired eyes.

“What do you want from me?” Will asked.

He didn’t want to encourage the guy, but he was getting fed up.

The man’s gaze fell, apparently crestfallen that his gift was once again unappreciated.

“I would very much like to be able to have an actual conversation with you,” he said, somewhat hopefully, “at the very least.”

Will pressed his eyelids down with his hands, trying to think. Why did this have to happen to him?

“Alright, but you have to stop with, uh, y’know, this,” he said helplessly, gesturing to the body.

Hannibal frowned. 

“I thought you could appreciate the elegance of such a death,” he said.

“Okay, I don’t know where you got the idea that I want you to go around killing people, but I don’t so could you really not?” Will asked, “I mean, I have enough on my plate as it is. I don’t need you, Mr. Crazy, to go around making more work for me.”

Hannibal nodded.

“That seems fair,” he said, “Can I invite you to dinner? If I promise not to make more work for you? I think you would enjoy yourself.”

Will seriously doubted that, but he was too tired to argue with this guy right then.

“Alright. You know what? Fine. Dinner. Whatever. Just stop with all the murder-y stuff. I’m tired.”

“You certainly appear so,” Hannibal agreed, “I promise. Does Friday work for you?”

Will knew he was going to regret this. He just knew it.

“Fine. What time?”

Hannibal smiled.

“Come whenever suits you best, though I can’t promise food until six at the earliest. You are welcome to come any time before then, if that is acceptable.”

Will nodded.

“Fine.”

 

Hannibal hummed happily to himself as he made the dinner preparations. 

He had finally done it.

Though the death god seemed less than excited at the prospect, Hannibal hoped to make the evening an enjoyable one. It should also turn out to be very educational, if he had his way.

The table was nearly set, and the food in progress, when the knock came to the door.

Hannibal opened it with a smile to see a very uncomfortable death god on his doorstep.

He was wearing a maroon sweater over a collared shirt and his hair was completely unruly, in a way as though it had been combed, but rebelled last minute. He was shuffling nervously and didn’t make eye contact with Hannibal during their initial greeting, which Hannibal found both odd, and highly alluring.

“Please, come into the kitchen while I finish our meal,” Hannibal said, ushering the other man through the house, “I have been told that watching the food be made is half the experience.”

The death god nodded distractedly, and followed Hannibal into the kitchen.

Hannibal was immediately busy attending to the dishes, leaving his companion standing awkwardly in the entrance.

“It occurs to me,” Hannibal said, trying to initiate friendly conversation, “That you have not given me a name by which to call you. I assume you have one you prefer.”

His companion nodded, coughing and shifting his weight as if he didn’t belong.

“Uh, yeah. My name’s Will,” he said, his eyes darting to Hannibal briefly.

Hannibal nodded, letting the name roll around in his mind and mingle with his memories of this man.

“Protector,” he commented, referring to the name’s meaning, “I think that seems a suitable name for someone of your occupation.”

Will shrugged.

“I guess, if you care about all that,” he said, rather irritatingly, “I just like it.”

Hannibal continued working on the food, refusing to dignify that comment with a response.

“So, tell me, Will,” Hannibal said when there was a pause in the dish preparation, “Is it your duty to protect the souls you collect, or are you merely there to initiate the removal of the soul?”

Will stared at Hannibal now, and Hannibal stopped his activity to return the gaze. 

“I am very interested in what you do,” Hannibal explained.

“You seem more than interested,” Will accused, looking back down at his feet, “You’re obsessed. If not with me, then with my activities, which, I will let you know, is an exhausting thing.”

Hannibal bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of his guilt.

“I admit I have more than one motivation behind my curiosity,” he said calmly, “though I hardly think ‘obsessed’ is the correct term.”

Will huffed in frustrated amusement.

“If anything, it’s an understatement.”

Hannibal was delighted at his companion’s conversational tendencies, and smiled genuinely as he finished their plates.

“Shall we?” he said, leading Will into the dining room.


	8. Through the Bramble Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metaphors!

Will was very good at dodging questions. He always said something interesting enough that it was easy to forget that he hadn’t given an actual answer, and Hannibal found himself caught in the trap a few times.

He found this oddly pleasing.

Will didn’t follow the full extent of formal dinner etiquette, but he wasn’t rude. He seemed to always take bites that were just a touch too big, as if he were famished, but didn’t want to show it. 

“You know,” he said, seeming to be more comfortable in his environment now, “This is delicious, but I just can’t seem to understand you. That’s weird, because I can understand anyone.”

Hannibal almost smirked, but settled for a subtle smile instead.

“Evidently, not anyone,” he replied.

Will shook his head, his curls bouncing slightly as he did. 

“No, see, I can. That’s the thing. I can understand anyone, but I just haven’t got you yet.”

He spoke with such surety, that Hannibal was immediately intrigued. 

“May I ask you to explain what you mean by that, Will?” He asked calmly.

Will leaned back in the chair, seemingly abandoning his cutlery next to his plate. He looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right words.

“It’s, I guess it’s like this,” He began, leaning forward again and placing his elbows on the table, “Everybody is like a little, clockwork tinker toy. I can see the gears turn and how the key winds and powers them. Each person is a bit different, but essentially, they have the same parts, and the key to understanding them is just to know where the key is.”

He was using his hands to emphasize his point, moving them through the air as if illustrating the images he described, and Hannibal found he didn’t mind the elbows on the table as much as he should have.

“But, you see, the cleverest toys have their key disguised, to blend in with the way the toy looks. I can’t find yours.”

Hannibal nodded. He found Will’s illustrative wording to be entirely entertaining, and much more clever than anything anyone else he knew would have come up with.

“Perhaps the cleverness of the toy requires more dedication to finding the key,” he offered.

Will looked at him, his brow furrowed, his nose scrunched slightly, and his mouth turned to a deep frown. His upper lip pulled back marginally, allowing a glint from his teeth to show through.

“You’re not offended?” he asked, seemingly both affronted and intrigued, “I mean, I didn’t expect you to be offended, necessarily. But most people would feel at least a bit looked down on if I were to say that to them.”

He was trying to apologize, Hannibal realized, for assuming that Hannibal would react like others.

“I see no reason to take that personally,” Hannibal said, “You are a god, by all rights, so you should look down on us. We are but a pebble in the stream of time, while you are a fish. You, in many ways, can claim the river as your domain.”

Will considered this and shrugged. He seemed a bit uncomfortable at Hannibal’s words, but he couldn’t make an excuse for his discomfort, so he remained silent.

“But I would like to ask,” Hannibal continued, “How many people do you talk to on average?”

Will waved the question off, not thinking it to be of any real consequence.

“Depends on whether you mean actually converse with, or just say something to,” He said.

Hannibal nodded.

“For the purposes of my own curiosity, I would like to know how many you actually converse with,” He amended.

Will picked his silverware back up from where he had left them. The expression on his face made it abundantly clear that he was not enjoying this particular line of conversation, but he had no objections to being honest.

“Not many,” he confessed, “In fact, I think for a long while I haven’t actually spoken with anyone until you came along.”

Hannibal was pleased.

“I mean, I usually say something small to the people whose souls I take, but they typically don’t say much.”

Will gave Hannibal a smile that, while wide, faltered and betrayed a deep sadness. 

Hannibal watched Will as he ate, now taking more conservative bites and chewing slower. 

“Then I should hope you are grateful for the company?” Hannibal ventured, his tone betraying his hopefulness.

Will raised a tired eyebrow at him.

“I think the company would be a little more enjoyable if it weren’t from an obsessive creeper,” he said.

His tone betrayed that he was amused, despite trying to drive his point with the insult.

Hannibal tilted his head in reluctant agreement, looking back down to his own plate and seeming to be humbled.

“If you had accepted my invitation much earlier than you did, I would likely not have caused you so much trouble,” he said.

Will shook his head incredulously.

“Most people would get the hint that I wasn’t into the whole murder thing,” he said accusingly, “But no, not you. You just think ‘I’ll try again and he will see the light’. That’s obsessive, and creepy.”

Hannibal’s brow furrowed slightly at his words and his eyes narrowed curiously.

“I see you know how the gears make me move, but you still search for my key. I have never been called obsessive before, so I think I wouldn’t likely know what it means for me. Perhaps I am, but I admit, I am very stubborn.”

Hannibal caught and held Will’s gaze, staring directly into his dark blue eyes that seemed to shift and flicker in different lights.

“You used the words ‘see the light’,” He pointed out, “Do you think it’s a light, that I’m trying to show you?”

There was a flicker of something, Hannibal thought it might be fear, in Will’s eyes as he kept their gazes locked.

“I think,” Will began cautiously, “that you think it’s a light.”

Hannibal was silent, waiting. 

Will tore his gaze from Hannibal’s, but not to look down or away in shame or shyly. He stared at the window, seemingly taking in every detail of the sight.

“I have yet to decide what it is in truth,” he continued, “After all, normal for a spider is chaos for a fly.”

Hannibal smiled, thinking not of the origin of the quote, but rather of the nursery poem.

_ ‘Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.’ _


	9. Into the Parlor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a dinner guest. Just no the one he would have liked.

After their meal, Hannibal had managed to convince Will to see him again in two week’s time. Will had seemed less reluctant than he would have liked to be, and Hannibal thought he likely needed to eat a more rounded diet. Good food is a powerful motivator when it is lacked, and the manner in which Will had eaten his meal before had made it clear that it was indeed lacked.

The memories of their conversation made dealing with Jack Crawford just a bit more bearable. 

This scene was one of the more interesting Hannibal had seen, on par with the gardener, though with an entirely different medium for his work.

The vocal cords were bleached and treated to be more playable. Hannibal could tell that much from just looking and breathing. The throat had been flayed open unceremoniously, being nothing more than an obstacle to get at the chords.

With an impending sense of annoyance, Hannibal came to some private realizations.

This was a display for someone, who the killer knew would see it. It was designed to catch someone’s eye, and it was a sort of introduction. This killer was lonely, and was reaching out to someone they saw as an opportunity for friendship.

The final realization brought his looming annoyance to a head, and he wanted to grimace.

This killer was trying to send this to him.

Hannibal turned away from the body to face Jack. Jack looked at him expectantly, flicking his gaze between Hannibal and the body as if to say ‘you’ve been looking long enough, tell me what you think’.

“This killer wants someone to notice him,” Hannibal said, “He wants to impress them, though he has never met them. He has killed before, but this was a message to another killer, so it is public.”

Jack made a face like he hadn’t seen a body display before, which irritated Hannibal further. 

“So, this guy wants some other murderer to notice him? Does he want to contact him?” Jack asked, keeping his wildly and inappropriately disgusted expression on his features.

“I believe he wants a response,” Hannibal replied, looking back to the scene, “He wants an answer to his invitation.”

Jack sighed, resuming his usual, tired expression.

“Any idea who the invitation is for?” he asked.

Hannibal caught and held Jack’s gaze and raised his eyebrows.

“I think you already have an idea.”

 

Tobias Budge was an interestingly boring person. He fancied himself far more interesting than he truly was, but his overconfidence made him very dull to be around.

Moreover, Hannibal felt like he was betraying Will. This man was sitting in the place at the table that he only had a day to wait for Will to be in again. This man was certainly not the person Hannibal wanted to be dining with, but he hadn’t had much other choice. 

Hannibal poured a drink for his guest as the man watched him with an expression on his face that Hannibal would have called predatory, if he hadn’t known who the real predator in the room was.

“As much as I am enjoying your company, Dr Lecter,” Tobias said, taking up the cup for a drink, “I can’t help but feel you didn’t invite me purely out of necessity. You didn’t only want my expertise in string instruments.”

Hannibal knew where he was going with this, and despite having expected it, he found it still a distasteful idea.

“That is true,” he said frankly, “You see, I received your message.”

Tobias was clearly making a valiant attempt at hiding his emotions, but he was not very practiced. His excitement and anxiety at Hannibal’s words were clear.

“Then,” he said carefully, “Can I assume you are the one who the message was meant for?”

Hannibal looked at him, not trying too hard to hide his lack of interest in the conversation.

“You can assume whatever you like,” he said, “Though the meaning of your message seemed reasonably specific to me. I think it was very foolish of you to help Franklyn approach me at the opera the other night. It makes too much of a connection between us.”

Tobias looked Hannibal over, as if calculating whether or not he could win in a fight. Ultimately, he seemed to realize that Hannibal was much more capable than himself, and he would do better to try his hand at verbal combat.

“If this is a response to my message,” Tobias ventured, “Then is it a positive reply? Or are you planning to have me arrested?”

Hannibal smiled.

“If I wanted to have you arrested, I could have told Jack Crawford your identity at the crime scene. I don’t think your slip up would be enough to lead him to my door just yet,” he replied, “though I do think you will be disappointed when I tell you I do not wish to be your friend.”

Tobias stood from the table abruptly, making Hannibal frown. That was a very rude thing to do.

“Then there is no reason for me to be here,” Tobias declared, clearly not having understood Hannibal’s true intentions.

Hannibal stood slowly to meet him. He looked at him across the table and the fear in Tobias’ eyes as the truth dawned on him caused him no small amount of excitement.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave just yet,” Hannibal said, “I am expecting a guest tomorrow and I intend to serve them one of my favorite dishes.”


	10. Dinner for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a hard day, but Tobias has it worse

Will was giving Hannibal a strange look as he prepared dinner, and it made him wonder if he knew about the meat that was in the dish. He hadn’t killed Tobias, yet, as he had promised Will that first time that he would stop, and he hadn’t yet breached the topic again.

“Something on your mind, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will ran a hand over his forehead, brushing a few curls aside as he did.

“It has occurred to me,” he said carefully, his hands twisting the fabric of his plaid shirt, “That people would typically bring something to nice dinners like this. Like, wine, or something. As a gift?”

Hannibal smiled up at Will, then turned back to the dish he was preparing.

“I only desire the gift of your company,” he said, “I am delighted to finally have you at my table, so there is no need to concern yourself with something so trivial.”

Will gave him a skeptical frown, letting his gaze sweep over Hannibal’s form before he gave a relenting nod. He tried to let his eyes settle on anything other than the other man, but ended up watching Hannibal cook nonetheless.

“You know,” Will hesitated to say, “Most people don’t talk the way you do.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, not looking up from the food.

“And what way is that?” he asked.

Will leaned back against the counter and braced himself with his hands, looking up to the ceiling. He thought for a moment, wetting his lower lip with his tongue in an unconscious movement.

“I guess you just say what’s on your mind, mostly,” he admitted, “but you’re not overly blunt about it. It’s a narration of your thoughts, in the most positive words you can give them.”

Hannibal looked up at Will with a smile. His eyes had a glint in them that made Will nervously look down at his shoes. He wasn’t afraid, but the chill that ran down his spine made him wonder at his own sanity.

Hannibal swept the food he had just arranged into the oven and turned back to Will. His head was tilted just a touch, making a lock of hair shift over his brow, giving Will somewhere to look other than his intense gaze, though he still favored his shoes.

“You seem to have no reservations when it comes to what you say about how you feel,” Hannibal observed.

Will shrugged.

“I don’t typically have anyone I need to worry about offending,” he said.

Hannibal studied Will once again, having made a habit out of letting his eyes scan his form whenever possible.

“And yet you don’t say what’s truly on your mind tonight,” He said, “You made an excuse about your social skills, rather than addressing your true concern.”

Will’s frown deepened and he only let his eyes flick up to meet Hannibal’s gaze briefly.

“I guess I didn’t want to, honestly, make you unhappy with me for prying,” he said, choosing his words slowly and carefully.

Hannibal smirked, feeling a prick of joy at his companion’s words.

“Believe me, Will,” Hannibal replied, “I find it very unlikely that you could possibly make me unhappy with you for letting me observe your brilliance.”

Will groaned.

“You really need to stop saying such weird stuff to me,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I can’t imagine anyone would be able to think straight when you are complimenting them left and right for no reason.”

Hannibal frowned slightly.

“I would endeavor to explain myself,” he said, checking the time on his dishes, “But I think you would see it as more unnecessary praise.”

Will grimaced.

“Then please don’t,” he said, “I don’t think I can articulate this quite as well as you could, but I have to ask. What kind of meat are we going to be eating tonight?”

Hannibal pursed his lips and spread his hands in surrender.

“I wouldn’t betray our agreement, Will,” he said, “though I know you can be sure that I haven’t. I did not kill anyone.”

Will stared at him, and Hannibal felt a pleasant chill run up his spine. The blue eyes he had so enjoyed seeing each time they met, were now dark and foreboding. It gave him an unprecedented thrill.

“That is not what I asked you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled.

“Would you like to meet him?” He asked at last.

Will closed his eyes in exasperation. 

“Fine, lead the way. I know I’m going to regret this.”

\---

The string of curses Will let out could have put a sailor to shame if there had been one present. 

As it was, there were only two witnesses to his profanity. A serial killer, and a string instrument expert who wished he were a serial killer of equal caliber.

The man Will was now looking at seemed to be unconscious, but Will knew he was alive. He was breathing shallowly, and Will hadn’t collected his soul yet. He was missing an arm, and Will thought it was likely to have been the man’s bowing arm, as Hannibal was that kind of guy.

“I did try to warn you against this, Will,” Hannibal said, looking more nervous than Will thought anyone must have ever seen him.

Will ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked.

Hannibal didn’t hide his wince at Will’s words.

“I do not kill out of pure compulsion, as you know,” he said, “This man was, and still could be, a threat to me. Additionally, I find him irritating and crude. To kill this man would be a mercy to the world.”

Will was running out of ways to show his frustration, so he settled with letting his hands hang by his sides awkwardly. He didn’t really care about this man’s life, but he still didn’t condone killing him. 

“Alright, since I’m already here, you might as well do it. Maybe wait until after we finish our meal though. I wouldn’t want to have work interfere with dinner.”

Hannibal all but beamed at Will, his usually stoic features betraying his joy uncharacteristically.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Will warned, “You will explain yourself over dinner, but I won’t stop you from finishing the job.”

“Of course.”


	11. Waltzing

Will reluctantly admitted to himself that he enjoyed Hannibal’s company. He had been avoiding letting himself think much about it, but it was becoming unavoidable. 

The truth was, he enjoyed having someone to talk to. He knew it was far from ideal, having no one but a crazy serial killer obsessive fanboy to talk to, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he really had very few options. Very few people were capable of seeing him, and even fewer were interested in talking with him.

More shamefully, he admitted that he like having Hannibal treat him like he was something special. It was a rather selfish thing that he continued to go to Hannibal’s house for dinner, as he knew Hannibal would always give him only the best food, the best conversation, and genuine compliments. Will had not had someone genuinely compliment him in centuries, and he soaked it up.

How ever much he hated him, Will liked being around Hannibal.

He thought about all of this with a guilty conscience as he carried the soul of the musician out into the night and through the dark. 

Hannibal probably knew this would happen, he thought, he was a psychiatrist, after all. He probably intended to foster this kind of relationship the moment they had met. 

Will cursed under his breath, watching the puffs of steam rise into the night sky. Hannibal’s plan was working, even though Will knew what it was. Maybe Will wanted it to work.

He groaned, knowing he was in a very complicated situation, but he couldn’t help but swallow at the memory of Hannibal’s food. The dishes were always divine, even though Will knew what they were. He had reasoned, initially, that it wasn’t really cannibalism for him to eat it, as he wasn’t exactly human, but he felt like he should still feel some sort of remorse for having enjoyed it. 

His home rose up on the horizon, the lights from within shining out like a boat on the sea, low clouds giving it an ethereal blur. He could hear the hellhounds bounding up towards him and he smiled. 

These were the moments he felt truly safe.

Wendigo was the first to reach him, jumping up to lick his stubbled jaw as he laughed and petted her. She was closely followed by Heath and Skully. They all yipped and woofed happily, circling him and bouncing as they moved in a unit toward the house. 

Will petted them each in turn, making sure not to neglect the smaller ones, and smiling warmly.

Will was the one death, out of all of them, who actually liked the hellhounds. He had always been a sucker for dogs, and the immortal status of the hounds was a huge bonus in his book. He hated having to watch dogs die.

Will cooked up some food for the dogs and made sure they all had their fill before he poured himself some whiskey and relaxed into a chair on his porch. 

The dogs ran around and pounced at fireflies as they began blinking in and out of existence in the yard. The dogs were enjoying themselves, and Will felt himself relaxing at the sight. He finally had a little time off, and he was anticipating being able to spend it with his dogs.

The thought of Hannibal came unbidden to his mind, causing him to grimace initially.

Hannibal probably wouldn’t like dogs that much.

The thought caught him by surprise, but he knew it was likely to be true. Hannibal had a very tidy and almost obsessively clean living space. Dogs would not be a welcome addition.

Why the thought of bringing his dogs to Hannibal’s home was something he would even consider, Will was unsure, but he took a swig of whiskey, figuring he might be able to work it out if he were a bit more intoxicated.

\---

Hannibal was keenly aware that his plan was working well.

Will seemed to be fully aware of his intentions when they dined together and conversed, but he made no move to counteract them or address them. This gave Hannibal hope that Will intrinsically enjoyed their time together.

Tobias Budge was more of a chore to dispose of than Hannibal had anticipated, but he felt it had been entirely worth it for the moment when Will had conceded to allow Hannibal to take his life.

He set the scene up with delicate intent, knowing Will would likely never see the scene, but feeling joy at the concept of it being seen by anyone. 

He didn’t make the Ranunculus blooms a very prominent part of his design for this scene, leaving only a bundle clasped in Tobias’ remaining hand. He anticipated the nearly intoxicating enjoyment of relating his “thoughts” about this scene to the police, and wondered how long it would be before they found it.

\---

“I think the flowers are more important that we’ve been speculating,” Beverly said confidently to Jack.

Jack raised a brow and gave her a look that said ‘you had better be onto something’.

Beverly pressed on, unperturbed by Crawford’s insinuation.

“All the flowers that have been left a the scenes, or incorporated into them, have similar meanings,” she speculated, “Roses: love, Amaryllis: Beauty, Heather: Admiration, and this one, Ranunculus: Radiance or charm. The only exception is the barbed wire guy, but he was practically tied like a present. I think our killer is in love.”

Jack closed his eyes and considered.

“Alright, with who?” he demanded.

Hannibal hated what he was about to say, but he needed to lead them off his trail. In truth, he hadn’t paid much mind to the meanings of the flowers, as Will wouldn’t likely care, but he had chosen them for aesthetics and scents. 

“Perhaps he is not in love, but looking for love. Our killer is taking out those he has been rejected by.”

It was a lie, completely, and Hannibal hated it. He didn’t want to be seen as some poor, heartsick fool, but he didn’t want them to get too close to the truth.

“What he takes from them, or replaces with flowers, are what he had admired about them. The man with the roses was likely a warm and friendly person, perhaps with a pleasant laugh, based on the placement of the bush. The woman with the amaryllis had pretty eyes, et cetera. The killer feels betrayed by them, so he takes the things that had enticed him,” Hannibal concluded.

Beverly gave him a skeptical glance, but she shrugged after a moment.

“Doctor Lecter could be right,” she admitted, “He probably knows more about this kind of thing than I do.”

Hannibal smiled sympathetically to her. 

‘ _I know so much more about this than you do_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re up against._ ’

Jack seemed satisfied with Hannibal’s explanation, reminding him to write it up and have it on his desk by the weekend before he excused Hannibal to return to his actual job.

\---

Will was seeming more frustrated as they sat down to dinner this evening. Hannibal was concerned, of course, but Will being so distracted gave Hannibal ample time to observe him without causing him discomfort. 

The flush to his cheeks was much more pronounced than Hannibal had seen it before, and his eyes appeared as much more green, putting emeralds to shame with their color. 

Will ran a hand through his hair, mussing it endearingly and letting a few stray locks fall over his creased and worried brow.

“Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease?” Hannibal asked evenly.

Will scrunched his nose, not meeting Hannibal’s eyes.

“I just don’t know why you keep killing people,” he said, “I mean, it’s not like you still have to try to get my attention.”

Hannibal nodded, his expression betraying nothing.

“I almost consider it as a friendly checking in,” he explained, “I don’t often see you, unless we are dining together, or if I am killing. It’s not as if I have a phone number for you.”

Will did meet his eyes now, his jaw slack and his lips parted in surprise. There was a brief moment of silence before Will swallowed and nodded, his head again turned away.

“I guess not,” he admitted.

Hannibal tilted his head curiously.

“Does killing bother you, Will?” 

Will frowned at his plate. He didn’t seem to want to answer that question.

“No,” he replied dryly.

Hannibal waited, knowing Will would continue after he put his thoughts in order.

“It’s not the killing,” he said at last, “I suppose. I think it’s how different the meaning is when you do it.”

Will paused, and Hannibal smiled faintly, but waited.

“Most people kill for a clear and selfish reason. You kill more as an expression of your mind. Sure, you kill people so you can see me, if I choose to believe that, but you do it artistically, rather than crudely. I just don’t understand you.”

Hannibal’s smile widened.

“My lack of a clear goal is what is troubling you,” he mused aloud.

Will snapped his gaze to Hannibal. He seemed to be considering Hannibal’s words, before he scooped up some food from his plate and shoved it into his mouth as angrily as he possibly could.

“You know what?” he snapped, “You make my week a lot busier than it should be. I have other things to do, you know. I shouldn’t have to come around every time you call.”

Hannibal spread his hands in surrender.

“As I said, I have only the one method of contacting you.”

Will grunted and hesitated only briefly before he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

“Is this good enough for you?” he asked, placing it on the table.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

“I am terribly curious about whether you had that before, or if you somehow conjured it solely for this.”

Will chuckled, shoveling more food into his mouth.

“It certainly would feed your terrible narcissism if I had,” he said, and then shook his head, “No, I already had it.”

“What purpose does it serve?” Hannibal asked.

Will smiled.

“I might not know very many humans,” he replied, “But humans aren’t the only ones I can talk to.”


	12. Called Upon

Hannibal had promised to (mostly) stop killing people after Will had given him a number that would get him to Will’s phone. He wasn’t overly fond of the idea of simply stopping, as he did find a measure of joy in creating his scenes, but Will had wanted him to almost desperately.

He didn’t lie to himself and say that Will had only wanted him to stop out of self interest, as he knew enough about the god of death by now to know there were other reasons as well. He simply acted politely, and didn’t ask about the other reasons. They would come out eventually, if all went well.

Hannibal wondered when would be the best time to call Will. He hadn’t given Hannibal any times that he would be unavailable, but he obviously needed to sleep at some point, and Hannibal knew he had a sort of job. 

He mulled it over in his mind as he cooked his dinner. 

He supposed his only true option would be to call, and if it were an inconvenient time, Will could tell him. 

He didn’t much like the idea of possibly calling when Will was busy, as that was very rude, but he had no other options.

Hannibal finished cooking his meal and sat down to eat. His phone buzzed and he grimaced, knowing what to expect from such an inordinately timed interruption.

“First thing tomorrow work for you?” was what the text from Jack said.

Hannibal would have made a show of checking his schedule if Jack had been there to witness it, but as it was, he only had to wait a moment to give the same illusion. He knew very well what he had planned for the next day.

“I have appointments nearly all day tomorrow, Jack. I needn’t be at the scene itself. Pictures will do fine, and I will come after my working hours are done.”

Hannibal finished his meal and ignored the grumpy messages from Crawford. He knew the other man wanted his help enough that he wouldn’t outright offend him.

Hannibal looked at his phone screen, lit up with the number Will had given him. He hesitated a moment before he pressed the call button.

After a single ring on the other end, the call was answered.

“Yup?” Came Will’s voice. There was a chorus of happy barks and yips in the background.

“You sound as if you are at a dog park,” Hannibal commented, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Will laughed.

“Nope. Just my backyard,” he replied.

Hannibal let his mind process that for a moment.

“How many dogs do you have?” he asked, almost incredulously.

The smile in Will’s voice was obvious when he spoke again.

“At the moment, I’ve got eight, but I’m sitting for a friend. Seven of them are here every other night too. They’re hellhounds, so homes for them are few and far between,” he explained.

Hannibal groaned inwardly. Of course Will would be an animal person. Who needed that many dogs? 

“Surely there are other homes they could go to?” Hannibal asked.

At his next words, Hannibal could see Will clearly shaking his head in his mind’s eye.

“The others don’t like them much, so I’m almost the only one who’ll take care of them. I don’t mind, really. I love dogs.”

Hannibal remembered seeing a dog with Will, briefly, at one point. He wondered if they all looked to be the same breed, or similar breeds. 

“How has your day been, Will?” Hannibal asked casually, reclining in one of the armchairs in his study.

“Oh, you know,” Will responded, “a few suicides, a mugging gone wrong, and a car crash. Just the typical day of a shinigami.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, though he knew Will couldn’t see him.

“Is that the word you use for yourself?” He asked, entirely enrapt with the concept, “I wasn’t sure if you would have a preferred term.”

Will chuckled on the other end.

“I think that’s the coolest sounding one,” he admitted, “But we don’t really use any names like that for ourselves. It’s kinda like how you guys don’t refer to yourselves as mortals all the time. We just don’t find the distinctions necessary.”

Hannibal hummed in response. That was fair enough, he supposed.

“But surely you have a name for yourselves that you acknowledge, as we recognize ourselves as mortal,” he suggested.

The line was silent for a moment, and Hannibal waited for a reply.

“Are you a dog person?” Will asked, not even hiding the attempt to change the subject.

“I am not much of any type of animal person, I’m afraid. My life style doesn’t agree with them, I suppose,” Hannibal replied.

Will grunted in agreement on the other end.

“Yeah, I figured as much. All your fancy stuff and tidy habits. They don’t exactly go well with animals.”

Hannibal was glad Will understood what he meant. 

“Now, that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy the company of animals,” Hannibal amended, “Simply that I don’t often have the pleasure.”

Will laughed.

“Sure,” He said, out of breath from laughing, “I can’t imagine you even petting a dog. I don’t think you’re an animal person.”

Hannibal felt a bit insulted at that, but he knew the image he gave off would shape people’s perception of him in that way. If anyone else had said that, he wouldn’t have felt upset at all. 

“Perhaps,” Hannibal hummed.

“So, you need something, Doctor Lecter, or just enjoy hearing the sound of my voice?” Will teased, though it sounded awkward, as if he wasn’t used to saying that kind of thing.

Hannibal relaxed into his chair.

“While I do enjoy listening to you, that is not the only reason for the call,” Hannibal said.

Will was silent, and Hannibal thought he might be shocked at his response.

“In truth, I don’t need anything from you,” Hannibal finally admitted, “I did wish to possibly learn more about you, though. Is that a possibility, or are you short on time?”

Will stayed silent for a moment, and Hannibal thought he may have put the phone down, but then he could hear a shallow breath.

“I’m all yours,” Will said.

Hannibal grinned.

“Excellent.”

\---

When Will put down the phone, he almost gasped aloud at the sudden rush of feeling in his chest.

He put a hand just under his collarbone and then stopped cold.

He could have sworn he felt a heartbeat.

He knew it was impossible, but he thought he had felt the unfamiliar thump of a beating heart from within his chest. 

He waited, keeping his hand in place, for another minute. 

Nothing.

Will was shaking as he fed the hounds. He knew it hadn’t really happened, but he had some residual fear making him feel as if there wasn’t enough air in his little house.

He set out the bowls and the hounds each obediently ate from their own. Will watched them numbly for a few minutes before he made himself something to eat. 

Will got ready for bed and lay down. Nervously, he placed his hand on his chest and waited. There was nothing, as there should be. 

This should have been a comfort to him, but Will only felt anxious as he drifted off to fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how far I wrote until I hit a writer's block, so the next chapter might have to wait a while longer than these did. The story should still continue, it may just be slower than anticipated. My sincerest apologies.


	13. Coworking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussions of suicide in this chapter. If that is something that disturbs, triggers, or is just distasteful to you in general, you have been warned.

Will woke the next morning feeling as if he hadn’t hardly slept at all. He groaned, knowing he had work to do that day, and he would be tired for all of it. 

He let the hounds out and watched them from the porch for a minute before he went back in to make their breakfast. He left the door open so they could come and go as they pleased. It wasn’t as if he had to worry about intruders.

He fed the hounds and got ready for the day, buttoning up a loose plaid shirt and pulling on a hat. Will let the hounds out to run around and he stepped into the cold air. 

There was a shift in the air around him and he turned to see Matthew on his porch. He was wearing a button down shirt, but it was unbuttoned and loose, likely trying to show off his muscular torso. 

Will let out a huff of mock annoyance before he whistled and the hounds came bounding up in a hoard.

Erik rushed up to Matthew and yipped happily. Matthew bent down and scratched the hound’s head.

“Thanks for watching him,” Matthew said, “I don’t like to have to leave him, but I know I can rely on you.”

He flashed Will a wide grin of perfect teeth, and Will met it with a half-hearted smile. Matthew had always adored Will, but he was too friendly for Will to enjoy his company for prolonged periods of time.

“Just make sure you take care of him,” Will said, feeling like he should respond and not having anything to say than to gain assurance that the hound would be cared for.

Matthew nodded, keeping the grin.

“He’ll be as happy as anything with me, Will. You know that. I just can’t say no to management. You know how it is.”

Will did, but he was always worried about the hounds that he didn’t have the exclusive care of. It was probably unhealthy.

“Yep. Well, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and you probably do too,” Will said pointedly, “So you should be getting Erik back home and be off.”

Matthew looked disappointed at having to leave, as he always did, but he nodded and rushed off in another displacement of air. 

Will muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes as he turned back to his own pack and checked that they were all healthy.

Matthew was one for theatrics, as Will never had been. He liked using his speed, even when it was unnecessary. He thought himself impressive.

Will gave the hounds a few instructions before he headed out. They tipped their heads happily, as if they understood what he was saying, and he wondered sometimes if they did.

\---

Will was out, walking through crowds of people again. He would have hated it, if any of them could see him. As it was, he could stand it with concentration on the task at hand. 

He wasn’t fond of having to take the souls of women, as they were usually much stronger outwardly. They were stoic and logical when he explained what was happening, and that made his job harder for him. The other deaths liked it, but Will felt like it was unfair for such strong wills to be destroyed.

The woman had taken an entire bottle of pills and was slumped against her bedroom door. She blinked up at Will when he entered, and he offered her a sad smile.

“Did it work?” she asked quietly.

Will hated himself. This woman had felt so desperate that she had taken her life into her own hands, and he was about to take it from her.

He nodded.

“It’s working. You have done well in this life,” he said, crouching next to her, “you have been strong. Stronger than you should have needed to be. I want to help you move one.”

The woman smiled and nodded. He eyes closed and Will collected her soul with a sigh.

He could only hope they really did continue on to some other, better life after he handed over the souls. He didn’t know what happened to them, but he wanted to believe he really was helping them.

Will left, trying not to imagine the screaming and crying that would ensue when the children of the house found her body. He hated thinking of those he had yet to collect. It was an unproductive train of thought.

\---

“Will, what a pleasant surprise,” Hannibal said, stepping aside to allow Will to enter his office.

Will walked in, looking in every direction. 

“I’ve never seen your office before,” Will remarked. 

He looked around, thinking everything seemed perfectly tailored to the man’s tastes. Everything was elegant and professional, with undertones of clever dangers.

“I suppose I wasn’t expecting anything different,” he continued, “though everything seems a bit pretentious for a psychiatrist.”

Hannibal bowed his head with a smile.

“My tastes may not be usual for my profession, but I have not had any complaints.”

Will chuckled.

“Why have you come here today?” Hannibal asked, “I presume this is not solely a social call.”

Will nodded and sat in one of the chairs. Hannibal tipped his head curiously, but sat in the other chair to face him.

“I have some things on my mind, and you are the only one I want to talk to about them,” he said bluntly.

Hannibal smiled. 

“Then tell me, what do you have on your mind?” He said.

His tone was professional, and Will felt strange being in the place of his patients. It almost felt secure.

“I collected a soul today,” he said.

Hannibal nodded.

“I would guess that is not unusual,” he observed, “So what about it is bothering you?”

Will sighed heavily. It was so much harder than he had anticipated. 

“I’m not fond of taking souls from women,” he explained, “They tend to be stronger, and yet more willing to let me take them. Maybe I just don’t understand it.”

Hannibal hummed in thought.

“You once told me you can understand anyone,” he said, “So I think that is likely not the issue. Perhaps you try not to put your mind in that place, out of fear in something.”

Will bit his lip.

“Maybe,” he confessed, “They go through so much, and yet they have the strength to be brave in the end. Even the ones who cry and plead, they retain their dignity in it. I don’t know why they are so different from the men, but they are.”

Hannibal remained silent, letting Will think as he wanted.

“This one, in particular,” Will continued, grimacing at the memory, “She ended her own life. She felt like there was no other way out. I hate seeing them in such a place as that.”

“You have incredible empathy, being someone who is not even human,” Hannibal remarked, “You truly can understand anyone if you try. You fear allowing yourself to become so entwined in the emotions of those you must take the soul of that you will no longer want to do it. You can’t keep yourself completely disconnected, but you create barriers in your mind to protect yourself from the most adverse effects.”

Will slumped back in his chair. He wanted to stop being the way he was. He thought he would rather be unfeeling than have to feel as much as he did. It would be easier.

“I can only hope I am truly sending them to a better place,” Will finished. 

He didn’t want to think about what could be happening to the souls he sent off. He wanted to remain in blissful ignorance, for fear of having sent them so eternal torment, or something as bad.

“You do not know what happens after you collect the souls,” Hannibal observed.

Will raised his head and looked at his companion. Hannibal was curious, but not desperately. 

Will shook his head.

“I just get the soul and hand it off to the higher powers,” he stated, “I don’t see or hear of them after that.”

Hannibal nodded in understanding.

“Have you ever inquired after them?” He asked.

Will laughed.

“You wouldn’t have either if you had my boss,” he said, “They don’t have the most friendly or forgiving reputation. I haven’t risked my job on that yet.”

Hannibal tipped his head.

“You refer to it as a job,” he said, “though I don’t think that is the most accurate term for it. You don’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.”

Will huffed another laugh.

“I can stop doing my job whenever I want,” he declared, “But to be fired, as a reaper, or shinigami, or whatever you want to call it, is basically a death sentence. I don’t even know what happens to the ones that get fired. Lucky for me, I’m on good terms with the higher powers.”

Hannibal was clearly taking mental notes of everything Will said. Will wondered if this was against the rules, but he doubted the knowledge would do Hannibal any good.

“What happens to someone if you do not take their soul, in their moment of death?” Hannibal asked.

Will considered this.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, “But I can guess that they wouldn’t die. At least, their soul wouldn’t separate from their body. I can’t say for sure what that would mean, but that’s my best guess.”

Hannibal nodded.

“But I know I’d be in trouble,” Will added, “‘Cause my whole job is to take the souls, so if I don’t do that, I’m in hot water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm back. I can't guarantee that I will be back to a good updating schedule with this fic, but I have at least this chapter to offer. Please enjoy, and I will have more someday. Sorry.


	14. Out of Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new killer is on the scene, drawing the attention of more than just the police.

Hannibal was getting very bored. Jack was asking him to come into scenes more and more often, and they were not nearly as interesting as he would have liked. Will was visiting more often, and that offered some respite from the grind of every day.

This one was certainly not a psychopath, or sociopath, or anything that would make his presence on the scene necessary. As far as he could tell, this was a case of retaliation in an extreme.

The body had not been displayed in any kind of elegance, rather nearly tossed to the ground where it now lay. His tongue had been torn out and his chest opened, but everything was savage and clumsy. If he had been the only one, Hannibal would have written it off as a self defense, knowing who the man was, but the two before him made that unlikely.

“What do you think?” Jack asked.

Hannibal turned to him with a frown.

“This is not your typical serial killer, Jack. This person does not take joy in destroying their lives. They feel it is their duty to rid the world of their evil. You must know this man is also a serial offender. Likely a victim of such an act feels obligated to take action against such men,” Hannibal concluded.

Jack grimaced.

“They feel like the law failed,” he stated.

Hannibal nodded. That was a very simple way to put it.

“And now they become their own law.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief.

“So this is some vigilante? Going around and cleaning up the streets on behalf of those who feel powerless?” He asked.

Hannibal nodded again. Jack always seemed to need to simplify things aloud before he would accept them. It was tiring, but ultimately necessary if they were going to get anywhere.

“Get a write up to my desk as soon as possible, and I’ll let you know what we find if it could help with the profile. I hope we can find this guy quick, before we have too many more bodies on our hands.”

Hannibal agreed, and made his way back to his car. This had been an entire waste of his morning.

\---

Will was visibly pleased when he walked into Hannibal’s office that day. His mouth fighting to keep the smile from breaking over his face, and his eyes bright and alert.

“I see you have had a pleasant day of work,” Hannibal remarked.

Will laughed.

“I take souls from dying people. Work is never pleasant,” he retorted.

Hannibal tilted his head curiously.

“Then what has you in such high spirits?”

Will dropped into the seat across from Hannibal, just as if he were a patient, and tapped his fingers on the armrest.

“Alright, you got me. I have been following a rather interesting human around for the past while. She can’t see me, unfortunately, but she fascinates me.”

Hannibal smiled, but recognized the pang of jealousy in his chest at the words. 

“What makes her so fascinating to you?” he asked.

Will allowed the smile to be full over his face now, making creases at the corners of his eyes.

“She’s a bit like you, actually,” he said, “She’s been on a bit of a spree recently. She is very selective of her victims, of course, but she does everything with purpose and righteous fury. It’s a bit intoxicating to watch.”

Hannibal smiled in return, but it was humorless, and he feared it may come across as a bit menacing.

“How does she select her victims?” he asked.

Will seemed oblivious to Hannibal’s looming menace, and continued on.

“That’s just the thing. These guys really deserve it, Hannibal. They are all really terrible guys, but the system has never been able to get them for it. She’s basically doing everyone a favor by taking them out. The police can’t do it, so she might as well.”

Hannibal smiled genuinely at that. He was sure of something now, she would be caught soon enough, and Will would not be following her around anymore.

“I believe I am familiar with this person,” he stated, drawing Will’s attention at last, “I have been called in to a few scenes recently that were just that sort of thing. Serial offenders being killed with more passion than care. She is clumsy, if it is the same, and Crawford will catch her.”

Will frowned in thought.

“She certainly isn’t as careful as you,” he agreed distantly, “I suppose it really is only a matter of time. I do enjoy seeing her work, though. I will be sad to see her go.”

Hannibal studied Will for a moment.

“So you are capable of taking joy in death,” he said, “If you know the victim is worthy of their punishment.”

Will laughed.

“Is Hannibal Lecter Jealous?” he asked, seemingly having picked up on the sour note in Hannibal’s voice, “You want my attention all to yourself, and you can’t stand to think I can appreciate her killing more than I did you. I can see you clearly now, doctor Lecter, and I don’t quite know what to think.”

Hannibal stood and walked to his desk. He was not very comfortable with being the subject of analysis, but he was terribly pleased with it. Will was so very clever.

“You did not answer my question, Will,” Hannibal deflected.

Will sighed and stood. He did not join Hannibal at the desk as Hannibal had hoped. Rather, he began wandering around the office absently.

“Death need not be elegant if it is just,” Will declared, “At least in my book. Self defense and revenge will always be elevated in my eyes over greed and insanity.”

Hannibal frowned down at his scalpel and pencils. He had hope Will would find some appreciation for his killings, but it seemed he had other ideas.

“So righteous killing is something you can find elegance in,” Hannibal prodded.

Will glanced over at him with a knowing smirk.

“I suppose so. There is something in it that I can appreciate. It doesn’t require justification of excuses. It just is, and it is just.”

Hannibal wanted to smile at how clever Will was, but he had a bitter taste in his mouth that wouldn’t let him. 

“You haven’t answered _my_ question, doctor,” Will said.

Hannibal looked up to see Will, only a few feet away, locking their gazes together.

“Are you jealous?”

Hannibal wet his lips nervously. 

“Very much,” he replied softly, “but I think the situation will be remedied shortly, so I am willing to be patient.”

Will smiled before he flinched and jumped back. His hand raised to his chest and he let out a string of curses in every language Hannibal knew, and a few he didn’t.

Hannibal stepped forward, his brow creasing in concerned confusion.

“Will, can I-”

“No!” Will snapped, “Damn you, stay away from me! I’m a god compared to you. I don’t need your help!”

Hannibal stopped dead in his tracks. Will had never said anything like that to him, and he had no idea how to react.

Will kept his hand on his chest for a moment before he took a calming breath.

“I’m fine. I need to go. See you around.”

And he was gone. The office was empty, aside from Hannibal. He was alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I got one more chapter out of my head before my usual update schedule, so this one is on time. Like before, I can't promise I will be reliable with my updates, but I will have more eventually. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.


	15. In Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds a listening ear and hopes it can be trusted.

Will stormed past his hounds and into the house. The hounds kept their distance, sensing that their master was not in the mood to play with them.

Will paced around, fuming at himself.

What was going on? How was this all happening? There was definitely something wrong with him. And now Hannibal knew. That was just great. He had even used his speed in front of Hannibal, which he had not intended to do ever. What was going on?

He poured a large glass of whiskey and downed half of it in one swallow. 

He didn’t want to have to think anymore. He wanted his thoughts to shut up and let him rest for a minute. 

Will sighed, remembering the things he had said to Hannibal. He had been so rude, at the end. Will felt like he should apologize, but he wanted to know what was going on first.

His phone was ringing, and it was Hannibal. Hannibal was probably concerned about him, which made Will smile.

There it was again.

Will cursed loudly and dropped his phone. 

If this was something Hannibal was doing to him, he would kill that man. Will wouldn’t put it past him to try experimenting on him. He might have put something in the food. Will snarled in pain, feeling the beat of his impossible heart subside and dissipate. 

Will knew this was probably something he should bring up to management, but he didn’t want to admit his recent activities to them. He knew it was frowned upon to consort with mortals, but he needed to find out what was happening.

He picked the phone up from where it lay, now silent, on the floor. He dialed the only other number he knew would be answered just then. 

Matthew picked up after two rings.

“Will, what can I do for you?” He said smoothly into the phone.

Will grimaced, but really, this was his only option.

“Hell, I need someone to talk to. Can you get over here? And no, this is not a social thing. I just need an ear that’s not gonna rat me out to management right off.”

Matthew hummed curiously.

“Alright, Will. I’ll be right over. Should I bring anything?” He asked.

Will frowned at his bottle of whiskey. The other deaths hated the thought of putting that kind of thing into their bodies, but he was tempted to ask Matthew to bring a new bottle.

“No, just get over here. And wear a shirt, for hell’s sake. I don’t care about your abs.”

He ended the call and finished his glass of whiskey. He put the evidence away, because he didn’t need Matthew to be judging him for all of his problems that night.

Will sat on the porch and waited. At the sudden displacement of air, he neither flinched nor looked up. Matthew always wanted people to do that and make him feel important.

Matthew took the other chair and Will took a breath before he looked up into the sky.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” Will began, searching the stars for familiar patterns, “but have you ever heard of one of us getting a heartbeat?”

Matthew leaned back in the chair, and Will watched him from the corner of his eye. He had worn an actual shirt this time, and it was buttoned all the way. Will was thankful he could at least be trusted to do as he was asked.

“I can’t say I have,” Matthew replied, drumming his fingers on the armrest, “though I know there have been a few issues in the past regarding those of us who get too attached to a mortal. Do you think that could be a possible explanation?”

Will frowned. That had sounded an awful lot like Matthew knew more than he was saying. 

“I have been talking with a guy,” Will admitted with a sigh, “but I wouldn’t say I’m attached.”

Matthew was clearly unhappy with that. He shifted his feet and huffed a breath lightly.

“Fine then. How often do you talk to him? Maybe it’s less to do with attachment and more to do with interaction.”

Will leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Pretty often, I suppose. He could see me, and that’s what started it all. I mean, he’s an interesting guy to talk with, and that’s why I kept it going. I don’t know. It really doesn’t feel like it’s because of that sort of thing,” Will said.

He hadn’t intended to defend Hannibal like that, but he hated the emotions that were radiating off of Matthew at the mention of him. Matthew was jealous, and angry, and resentful. Will wanted to change the topic.

“There’s another human I’ve been hanging around a bit recently,” Will said, “She can’t see me, but she’s making a lot of work for me.”

Matthew seemed to accept the new subject and hummed thoughtfully.

“I suppose she could have something to do with it. What exactly are you dealing with?” He asked.

Will waved his hand as if it wasn’t that important.

“I just get a heart sometimes,” he said, then realized how that sounded, “I mean, I can feel the beat in my chest, like having a heart. I don’t know exactly how it works, but it’s only sometimes.”

Matthew had his eyes narrowed on Will as if he were some sort of enigma. He shook his head in amusement.

“You have always been a strange one, Will,” he said, a tad too much affection in his tone, “and now you are acting like this might be nothing. You realize this could be really dangerous for you, right?”

Will sighed with a shrug.

“I suppose so. You’re sure you never heard of this happening before? Or anything similar?”

Matthew gave Will a defeated frown and stood up. 

“I haven’t but I’m pretty good at snooping. I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Be careful out there in the meantime. I don’t want you to be in too deep with management,” Matthew said.

Will nodded and Matthew disappeared in another rush of air.

Well, that had gone awfully. 

\---

Will hadn’t answered his phone, which made Hannibal anxious. He knew Will would likely be fine, as he was truly godlike in comparison to himself, but Hannibal wanted to find out what was going on. It was nothing like Will to be so rude, and seeing him in pain made Hannibal concerned.

He flipped through his rolodex, considering what he should do. He plucked a card from among them and thought.

If Will didn’t reply or visit in the next two days, Hannibal would act. 


	16. In Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal finally gets his explanation, and Will gets some reassurance.

Will felt himself shaking nervously as he walked up to the building. 

This was Hannibal. He knew it.

He didn’t know exactly what he would find, but it would be Hannibal’s doing, whatever it was. 

Will had known Hannibal would do something like this eventually, once he started ignoring the calls, but he dreaded having to face the man.

How would he explain why he had ignored him? What if Hannibal really had been doing something to him? What would he do then?

Will took a deep breath and opened the door of the abandoned building. The large room he entered echoed with cold resonance. 

There was Hannibal, leaned over a body. He had a scalpel in hand and a nearby tray held more surgical tools that he had likely already used, despite their clean appearance.

Upon Will’s entry, Hannibal looked up and smiled. He seemed to relax a bit in relief and he quickly finished the incision he was working on. He set the scalpel aside and stripped off his gloves.

“I am glad to see you, Will,” Hannibal said, stepping closer to him with a genuinely happy glint in his eye.

Will frowned, moving away from the other man by a margin.

Hannibal stopped, his brow creasing in concern at the small movement.

“Is something wrong, Will?” He asked.

Will hesitated.

“Yes. Something is definitely wrong,” he admitted, “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

Hannibal frowned.

“Do you believe I am at fault?” He asked quietly. 

Will sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t, really. He just had no idea what it could be, and Hannibal was a possible catalyst.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “It could be you. It could be a number of other things that I might not have even thought of. I just hope you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

Hannibal set his jaw, the muscles flexing under his skin to show his displeasure.

“Will, what is happening that might be because of me?” He asked genuinely, “I wouldn’t want to cause you any harm or danger.”

Will stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep himself from doing something strange or foolish and he stared at the ground.

“I’m going to get in trouble if anyone hears about this,” he said, “but I will have to explain a bit about how us shinigami work. I don’t think you would go around telling people, and they wouldn’t believe you anyway.”

He felt silly for trying to justify it like that, but he felt like he owed Hannibal an explanation.

“I don’t have a heart,” he stated flatly, “none of us do. No heart, no heartbeat, no pulse, nothing. We also don’t really need to breathe, but it’s a habit most of us held onto.”

Hannibal tipped his head in a curious gesture.

“A habit from when?” He asked.

Will shrugged.

“When we were human,” he said, “we weren’t always death gods. We all had lives before we were sentenced to an eternity of community service.”

He realized the joke may have gone over Hannibal’s head, as the other man had little knowledge of the process.

“I’m kidding. I don’t know how we get picked, I just joke about it when I feel like I would rather go to hell than be what I am.”

Hannibal nodded in understanding, bidding Will to continue.

“So, I don’t have a heart, and I haven’t for centuries. The problem is that recently mine has come back a few times. Only for a moment at a time, but I feel the beat in my chest and the blood rush through my veins. It hurts, to have a heart. You don’t notice, because you always have had one, but it’s painful. I actually thought you might have been feeding me something as some sort of experiment.”

Will winced as he confessed the last bit and glanced up to gauge Hannibal’s reaction. The other man simply looked down at Will’s feet and nodded.

“I understand why that would be a concern for you,” he said, “I obviously have questionable morals in your eyes, and it is something that has changed in your life recently. It only makes sense that you would consider the possibility.”

Will relaxed his shoulders slightly. Hannibal understood, and he didn’t seem angry. That was better than Will could have hoped for.

“I promise you, I have not been feeding you anything out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t.”

Will looked up at Hannibal and saw the sincerity in his eyes. He was telling the truth. Will smiled at the other man and pulled his hands out of his pockets to swat the hair out of his face.

The pain hit him like a truck and he slumped forward suddenly.

Hannibal caught him, and Will found himself staring up into the concerned rings of gold that lived in the other man’s head. His hands had gripped onto the plastic sleeves of the suit Hannibal was wearing, and he realized that Hannibal was supporting almost all of his weight.

“Will, are you alright?” Hannibal asked, not moving to let go of him, but lifting him higher so he could regain his feet.

Will took a shuddering breath and tried to stand.

The thumping was softer, but still coursed pain through his extremities as he got to his feet.

He was very close to Hannibal, now. Hannibal still had not relinquished his grip on Will’s arms. Will’s bowed head made it so his hair brushed Hannibal’s chest, and he could hear the heartbeat from inside.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Will said, “This shouldn’t be possible. I can’t have a heart.”

Hannibal’s grip tightened slightly for a split second, giving Will an anchor to reality and Will snapped his gaze to the body.

It was time.

Will pulled away from Hannibal and stood over the man on the table. The man’s face had almost completely been removed, giving him a pleasant appearance of a skull. His eyes shone out from their sockets, bright green.

“Your job is done,” Will stated before collecting the soul. 

He would normally try to give them a bit more comfort to make the transition easier, but he just didn’t have the energy at the moment.

Will looked back over to Hannibal. He leaned his elbows on the table for support.

Hannibal was standing, his posture giving the impression that he was missing something, like someone who was expecting to be handed something. 

Will sighed and pushed himself up off the table before heading to the door.

“I’ll stop ignoring you now, but I need to figure out what’s going on still,” he said over his shoulder.

There was no response as the door closed behind him and he made his way home.

\---

Hannibal felt like a complete fool after Will left. He had stood, frozen after Will had pulled away, like some man left at the altar. He must have looked ridiculous.

After a moment, Will’s words processed in his head and he shook himself from his daze. Will would respond now when he called.

Hannibal finished up the scene and placed a single white rose over the man’s heart before he left.

For once in his life, Hannibal felt completely powerless. He had no way to figure out what was happening to Will, and no way to know what it all might mean for him. Will could die, or something of the like, and Hannibal was powerless to stop it or help.

He cooked with aggression, trying to think of any way he could help. 

For once, his well rounded skill set didn’t seem to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I have finally written this one all the way through, so the chapter updates will be on time for the rest of the fic. Thank's for sticking through it so far, and I hope it lives up to your expectations.


	17. In Love

Will felt something. 

It wasn’t the pain and pulsing he had come to associate with having a heart slammed back into his chest, but it was not pleasant either.

His phone rang, and it was Hannibal.

“Hey, what’s up?” Will asked upon answering.

The only response from the other end was a hollow thud and a crackle of the speaker. Then the call ended.

Will furrowed his brow before pulling his jacket on and heading out. Hannibal wasn't typically the sort of person to play practical jokes, which made Will worried. This was either the first prank Hannibal had ever played, or he was in trouble.

“Wendigo, you’re in charge,” Will called into the house, “Don’t make trouble.”

If Hannibal was still alive by the end of this, Will would need some explaining from him. He just hoped he was concerned for a good reason.

\---

The door hung slightly ajar, giving Will sudden alarm. 

Hannibal would never leave it like that. 

In the kitchen, Will found Hannibal’s phone on the floor. The screen had a spiderweb of cracks across it and Will felt a chill.

Something was definitely wrong.

A sound of choking came from behind the pantry door, and Will walked as quietly as he could over to it. He pressed his ear up against it and heard two voices. One was muffled and choked, but they were both familiar.

He opened the door and found the a hatch in the floor that led to a case of stairs. There was a light somewhere down below, and Will plunged down toward it.

The voices grew clearer, and Will knew who they were.

The choked one was Hannibal, as Will had expected. 

The second one made Will hesitate a few feet from the corner he would need to turn in order to find them.

Matthew. One person Will had not expected to see or hear from that day.

Will turned the corner and surveyed the scene.

Hannibal was stood with his hands tied behind his back and a noose around his neck. His feet were also tied and he was balanced on top of a bucket. Matthew looked over when Will entered, and Hannibal managed to glance over as well, looking through his disheveled hair.

“I promised I would help you,” Matthew said, bowing with no small amount of grandiosity, “And here I am. Helping.”

Will frowned at him.

“You think this will help?” He asked, waving vaguely at Hannibal.

Matthew glanced at Hannibal before nodding.

“He is the source of your problems. I warned you about him, and after seeing you collapse into his arms, my suspicions were confirmed. He could cost you your life, if you let him. I’m doing you a favor.”

Will folded his arms and rubbed one hand over his face.

“Matthew. I didn’t ask you to do this. I really don’t want you to do this. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong,” Will said. 

Matthew took a step closer to Hannibal, his feet twitching as if craving the action of kicking the bucket out from under him.

“I’m doing this for you, Will,” Matthew said, baring his teeth in a predatory manner, “to save you.”

Will sighed heavily.

“Matthew. I know you’re one of the newer shinigami, but really, this is something even a rookie would know better than to do. He’s not on your list. He’s not even in your area. You can’t do this.”

Matthew nodded as if he had expected that.

“I’m not going to kill him. I’m not going to collect his soul. You should know I waited for you. It’s your territory, and your privilege. I prepared him for you. I’m doing this for you.”

Will stopped. He felt the pounding in his chest, and it was strong. It was aching too. Pulsing through his veins and throbbing in his head.

“Alright,” he said, stepping forward, “I’ll do it. As long as you are sure it will actually fix my problem.”

Matthew grinned, nodding quickly and not taking any notice of the scalpel Will plucked off the table. He stepped slightly to the side to allow Will better access.

Will stepped up to Hannibal and looked up into his eyes. The feathery fringe of hair fluttered in front of the maroon rings and the corners of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly into a smile.

"Hello, Will."

Will swung his arm to the side and plunged the scalpel into Matthew’s shoulder. It entered at the base of his neck and blood trickled out around it.

Matthew fell to the ground and his feet scrabbled over the floor in an attempt to kick the bucket away.

Blood rushed in Will’s ears as he kicked Matthew in the ribs and blocked his feet from getting at the bucket. He kicked and kicked, watching as Matthew’s blood gushed and smeared over the floor. Matthew clawed at the scalpel, but his strength was draining and it was in deep.

Matthew’s movements slowed until they stopped, and his eyes glossed over.

Will was breathing heavily as he stood over Matthew. 

There was a long moment of stillness, the only sounds being Will’s breathing and the blood pounding in his ears.

He finally turned back to Hannibal and carefully removed the noose. He untied the rope around his ankles and Hannibal stepped down. Will tried not to meet his eyes. He busied himself with untying the rope around his wrists. 

There were deep red marks from the ropes, and Will swallowed at the sight. 

One of Hannibal’s hands raised and he placed a finger under Will’s chin. He tipped his head up.

Will found himself looking into his eyes again, and there was something intense and serious in them.

Will couldn’t move. He stood frozen, staring into Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal leaned down and kissed him, and Will felt his hands trembling. 

His heart was pounding, and he knew that Matthew had been right all along. Hannibal was the reason, but he realized he wanted it. He wanted the pain, and he wanted Hannibal.


	18. In Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!!!

Hannibal was intensely aware of Will’s eyes tracking him as he accompanied Jack up the stairs. Behind them, in a police escort, was the woman they had been chasing almost as much as Hannibal himself. 

Her hair fell in a light curtain down to her hips and her large brown eyes flicked over to Will for a moment. A flicker of recognition passed over her expression when their gazes met, and Hannibal wanted to relieve her of her terribly expressive features. She had stolen something precious from him, and he wanted her to pay.

Will’s attention was for no one but him.

\---

Hannibal walked back out of the building and paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sunlight. 

At the bottom of the stairs, stood Will, smiling brightly up at him.

Hannibal returned the smile and walked down the steps to him. Will took hold of his lapels and straightened his suit jacket, though it didn’t need it.

“You had venom in your eyes when you went in,” he remarked.

Hannibal took hold of one of his hand and raised it to his lips. He took immense pleasure in the slow and steady pulse he could feel in Will’s wrist. It was new, and it belonged to Hannibal.

“Forgiveness is not one of my strongest virtues,” Hannibal said, breathing in deeply, “She took something precious to me. I intend to remedy that in a way.”

Will smelled like he always had, though nowadays he smelled more vibrant and alive. It was one of the side effects of his recent change to mortality.

Will laughed, a wonderful sound that Hannibal relished in.

“You have so many virtues, don’t you?” Will asked.

Hannibal smiled again and leaned in to smell along his hairline. He let his nose ruffle through the curls on Will’s head and his lips brushed against his forehead.

“Only in the eyes of some,” he murmured. 

Will tipped his head up to catch his lips in a kiss and huffed a laugh at him again.

“I can’t wait to meet those some,” he teased, “Let’s go home. The hounds are probably getting hungry, and I don’t want them to attract the attention of the shinigami that are still out there. What are you making for dinner tonight?”

Hannibal kissed him gently before answering.

“I had hoped to have something special for the both of us, but I regret that I did not have the opportunity. I shall have to make due with something I have at the house.”

Will turned, keeping Hannibal’s hand in his as they walked toward the car.

“Did that something special happen to have long, blond hair?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was super short, and may seem a bit rushed. If any of you have any questions, about the fic or really anything else, feel free to ask me.


End file.
